Wrong
by EbonyKittyCat552
Summary: Cross spies on Allen and discovers that maybe it's not only women that he likes... or maybe it's just Allen


Uh... *cough* Well... this is a touch on the perverted side...

Anyway, I'll eventually get around to writing a second part to this I'm sure. There are plenty of prompts I could apply for such use *snicker*

Warning: slash content (if you don't know what that is look it up, cause it's not my problem if you've got a problem with it), masturbation, voyeurism, swearing (Oh, and Allen is still underage... so it's kinda sorta got pedophilia *scowl* Cross is such a perv)

Disclaimer: Cross and Allen don't belong to me *sniffle* They belong to Katsura Hoshino

* * *

Cross Marian enjoyed wine and women, especially together. He enjoyed getting drunk and gambling, then taking home which ever poor member of the opposite sex attracted his attention that night and screwing her senseless so he couldn't hear when his idiot pupil returned from wherever he had gone off to that day (usually work). He enjoyed being oblivious until he had to wake up the next morning, kick the lady out of his rooms, find something to help him with the massive hangover he usually sported… and then he'd get up, go out and do it all again.

However, he also knew that he was deluding himself.

There was nothing wrong with enjoying expensive, rich wine and the beautiful, curving forms of women. Nothing wrong with that at all!

Yet… at times… it felt very wrong.

Oh, he'd known immediately when he hit puberty that he liked women. He liked how soft they were, he liked the way they smelled and tasted, and he most _especially_ liked the parts of their body which the male form conspicuously lacked.

Yet for all that liking… he'd never found one he could tolerate for long. A day or two was typical… sometimes a couple of weeks (Okay, so that was a bit rare…), but certainly not _permanently!_ The only person he could put up with permanently was Allen Walker.

Allen Walker was most definitely the more responsible part of their odd partnership. Allen was the one who got up early, the one who cleaned and cooked, the one who worked and earned money, and the one who paid all the debts that needed paying. Cross had never seen any reason to stop this inevitable cycle. It was, after all, beneficial for both of them! He never had to work, and Allen learned how to be a strong, responsible young adult, something which he himself would never be. It worked out perfectly!

It was in a rare moment of sober enlightenment that he'd realized that _Allen_ was like his wife, his steady girlfriend who made sure he didn't get himself into all manner of trouble. Allen was the only one stubborn enough to put up with him on a day-to-day basis. Of course, they weren't screwing each other, but…

That had brought another nasty epiphany to the forefront of his too-busy mind, which only made him want to go out and drink more, to get drunker. When he realized the real reason _why_, well… he was slightly disturbed.

All those women… looked like Allen.

Well, not entirely, of course! They were all very… womanly and such! They all had breasts and curves and hips, pouty smiles and giggling, high voices, things Allen didn't have at all. But he began to notice, in his sober moments, what they had that Allen had, and what Allen had that they _didn't_.

His idiotic pupil had grown. Not very much, mind you. He was still short, but he was slender with a good, strong build. He was by no means a weakling (though he was too tender-hearted for his own good). Allen was almost fifteen. He was getting closer and closer to that point where he would be considered a _man_. He was already past puberty, for God's sake! Cross had heard him jerk off in the bathroom more than once before (as the kid had yet to learn the art of discretion and subtlety in such important matters), and it shouldn't have bothered him in the least.

It did.

It had taken one little passing thought to open a floodgate of _uninvited_ thoughts that Cross wished had never existed. All he'd needed to do was peek through that stupid crack in that fucking door _one freaking time_, and he was _done for_.

He had spied on Allen jerking off… and found that he quite liked it.

He had quite liked the way Allen's surprisingly slender body bent and arched. He had enjoyed the long, slender and surprisingly smooth legs which the boy sported, just as pale as the rest of him. He had _especially_ enjoyed the boy's tight, round little arse and the cute, irresistible little moans that had slipped past his too-full-to-be-a-boy's lips.

Of course, immediately after, he'd gone off to find a bar and a woman.

And then come back to screw her.

And he woke up the next morning and _remembered_ (_God-fucking-damn it!)_.

Because he looked down at the short, slender little blond and noticed everything about her that was like _him_. She had the palest blond hair you could find, aside from the startling shade of white which Allen possessed, and it was shorter than shoulder length. Her skin was pale, pale, pale and her legs were very long and shapely. Her lips were that same full shape, nice and pretty pink, and slightly bruised from being kissed. She looked debauched, and an image of Allen in a similar position crossed his perverted mind, flashing across his eyes. It was quite the enjoyable, sexy sight indeed!

And it was _wrong_. It was so, so wrong.

He stared at her. Her eyebrows were too dark, obviously not matching her dyed hair at all, and her eyelashes were almost black, weighed down with too much makeup, which was smeared slightly. Her arms were skinny, but there were no powerful, wiry muscles to be found. It wasn't as if she wasn't in shape, but… certainly not like his idiot pupil, who worked day-in and day-out. Her skin wasn't pale enough, either, and her hair was just a shade too _yellow_ for his tastes. Briefly, he wondered why he'd chosen _this_ girl when there must be a hundred thousand out there who were prettier, with larger breasts and un-dyed hair.

Then she opened her eyes, blinking up at him with her depthless, shallow gaze.

They were gray.

Allen's were gray, too…

Only his were slightly more silvery, more… more… They were just deeper. Allen was deeper. He was…

_What are you saying? What are you _thinking?_ What's wrong with you?_

_Nothing's wrong…_

That was a big fat filthy lie.

Later, after she had gone, he sat alone in the house, wondering if he should go and find somewhere to get a drink. Somehow, on that particular day, he didn't feel like it. That was a first for him since… well, since a long time ago.

He was still there when Allen came home. He'd not drunk a single fucking drop of alcohol the whole day. He felt like shit!

The door opened, and Allen waltzed in, not noticing his presence. He shouldn't have anyway. Normally Cross wasn't even there, after all. The General watched his idiot pupil, who hung his coat on the coat-rack and dusted invisible dust from his vest. Those brilliant silver eyes almost glowed.

He was… beautiful. And he was Cross'… wasn't he?

Again, he entertained a mental image of Allen in the shower, with those little crystal droplets sliding down his back and shoulders, tracing his spine down to the cleft between his delightfully perky little buttocks. He remembered the way Allen had moaned while his hand worked between his thighs, unseen through the shower-steam in the air.

_Are you mad? He's fucking fourteen!_

Cross blinked.

"What are you doing back so early?"

And he watched his apprentice stumble, nearly toppling over face-first onto the carpet. "M-m-master!" he gasped out with incredibly wide eyes. "What are you doing here? Why are you ba—?"

The boy cut off sharply. "Never mind, I'll go fix dinner!" And he was off. If Cross didn't know better, he'd almost say that Allen was _frightened_ of him.

_Well, you're not a particularly friendly drunk, are you? At least, not unless you're fucking some slut into a wall somewhere, right?_

The boy thought he was drunk.

_And why shouldn't he? You're always drunk when he gets back._

Hours later he'd seen neither hair nor hide of the boy. His food had been left on a tray next to his bedroom door as usual. Cross scowled at it, sweeping it aside and stomping out into the hallway. It was dark out… he supposed Allen would be sleeping already.

Cautiously, he approached his apprentice's quarters. His hand reached out to twist the door open, and he was about to step inside the dark room when something stopped him. His eyes widened slightly in surprise.

Allen was… moaning?

The high, thin sound seemed strangled. When his eyes adjusted to the dark he realized dimly that Allen was biting the sheets. He was uncovered, though; his whole, pale, slender, long-legged body was displayed like a feast for the senses, his trembling thighs open wide. The only part of his body that wasn't pale was the deformed hand which gripped perilously at the headboard above him. His silvery eyes were tightly shut.

His other hand was wrapped around his turgid member. Cross couldn't help but stare in morbid fascination at how it moved and twisted the flushed, pink flesh. His eyes took in everything about his apprentice which he hadn't seen before. White was most definitely his new natural hair color, for the hair was white _there_, too.

The other hand, the darker one, dipped downwards, cupping the boy's sacs and rolling them none-too-gently. Allen let out what could have been a strangled sob.

Cross was rather ashamed to admit that he was hard just from hearing it. It was absolutely pathetic and absolutely, unequivocally _wrong_.

And then the hand went even lower. The General watched with wide, lustful, unblinking eyes as his apprentice—his fourteen-year-old _male_ apprentice—pushed a finger past the quivering outer muscles of his entrance. It seemed like forever, but the finger slid to the knuckle, pulled out, and shoved back in almost brutally.

Allen very nearly _screamed_. His whole body arched upwards. It was… well…

It was sexy. More than sexy.

Cross hated that he almost came in his pants. Goddamn it… this was so _wrong_. This was _Allen_, his idiot pupil, his _apprentice_, the little boy who'd been living with him since he was seven!

Yet Cross couldn't look away. He didn't look away from his apprentice's writhing, moaning, gasping form until the boy let out a sobbing breath and came, spurting all over his hand and stomach. The muscular, young body was pulled tight for a few moments, frozen in ecstasy that was plain on Allen's pleasure-contorted face.

And then the boy came back down. His head lolled back. "Master…"

Cross' stomach dropped down to his toes. He felt… leaden… and heavy. As quietly as he could manage, he stumbled back from the doorway, afraid that he'd do something foolish if he stayed.

It was… it was so very _wrong_.

But it didn't feel wrong at all.

"I need a drink," he announced to no one in particular. There was no reply.

* * *

Well, there we go. I'll have to continue this sometime *sigh* I just never have time for these things (stupid school)

Review if you wish to


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